…that I don’t have to go through the trouble of digging out a butter knife every time I want a peanut butter sandwich. You know how it goes: you want peanut butter, but you end up smearing it all over your forearms and the cat and then dropping the knife down the garbage disposal which ruins the disposal and that’s the FOURTH ONE you’ve had to replace this year and the peanut butter smeared all over the cat attracts coyotes who block your way to the car so you can’t get to Home Despot anyway and DEAR GOD WHY ISN’T THERE A BETTER WAY.
My nuts are salty, yet sweet.
I had big plans for tonight. Big. Huge. I left work at a reasonable hour – 4:30! A train was leaving just as I got to the subway station. I was all set to get home around 5, scour the cookbooks for a recipe that would use up all my CSA tomatoes and tomatillos and the pork loin I had defrosting, smack it on down, and then make cupcakes for the admin assistants at my office who’ve proofread 300 pages of copy for me this week, because I am a fucking sweetheart.
I read the original poster’s caption, and I’m still guessing daylily.
This anthropomorphic hot dog is wearing chaps and asking for “one all the way.” Just be glad I didn’t take pictures of the BDSM-themed cups.
- Total number of hot dogs consumed: 8
- Total cups of birch and/or root beer consumed: 3
- Total number of weiner-related “jokes” made by Brian and his brother: 10 hundred thousand million
- Total number of times they made me want to stab myself in the ear with a plastic butter knife: 10 hundred thousand million and one
- Knowing that I brought it all upon myself: Priceless
It warmed my heart to see all you Aqua Teen fans. It’s too bad the Wolfen is going to come for you with his razor.
This odd transitional season – one-half Indian summer, one-quarter early autumn, one-quarter what the fuck is going on make up your damn mind – calls for an odd transitional dish. Chicken parm was sounding tasty but a bit too heavy, and I didn’t want to have to turn the oven on.
Instead, I bring you deconstructed chicken parm: pan-seared chicken breasts, tomatoes with lime and cumin seed, and pan-fried smoked mozzarella. Or as I like to call it, Heidigger’s Chicken. It’s like Schrödinger’s cat, but instead of a possibly dead cat locked in a box, there’s fried cheese.
The Moon has one-third less gravity than your Earth. I don’t know if you can understand that, but our vertical leap is beyond all measurement.
Although the weather has still been largely gorgeous this week, there’s been a slight dip in temperatures that heralds the beginning of fall. The brisker evenings prompted an urge to do something warm and homey, like bake bread. I’m slowly overcoming my fear of yeast, and want to start trying different styles of yeast dough.
Of course, after I decided to do that and got to work the temperature abruptly shot into the 80s, and today is hovering in the low 90s. Fucking weather. Still, it didn’t stop me from making and devouring these cinnamon-cardamom brioche rolls with a delicate orange glaze.
Several people came really, really close to guessing the last Frig?, but I’ve gotta give it to eagle-eyed reader Gwynne who hit the nail on the head with her precise answer (and explanation). “Dragon fruit and grape steeped in rice vinegar. It’s drunk diluted in water for beauty and/or health reasons.” Who knew? You do, now.
(All the potato people: Really? Were we looking at the same picture?)